


the ol' razzle dazzle

by 01nm



Category: Fantastic Four, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Peter, Awkward Conversations, Coffee Shops, Gen, Memes, Misunderstandings, Precious Peter Parker, Secret Identity, Sensory Overload, obligatory Deadpool cameo, vaguely parental relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-09 10:27:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7798261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/01nm/pseuds/01nm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter's freaking out because Captain America just saw him <em>technically</em> assault somebody.</p><p>Now there's a warm hand around his shoulders leading him away from whoever might be calling the police, a whole lot of "son"s and "back in my day"s and... coffee?</p>
            </blockquote>





	the ol' razzle dazzle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isabelaofrivaini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isabelaofrivaini/gifts).



> *The past tense section is basically one big sensory overload and/or anxiety attack for Peter, so step lightly if that makes you equally as twitchy/queasy.
> 
> [gets a megaphone] **This Peter is autistic.** [puts megaphone down]  
> ...  
>  [gets megaphone again] **All of my Peter's are autistic please stop ignoring this.**

 

Peter knows that he is 'in for a storm' (as aunt May – bless her old, kitschy heart – puts it) the moment his body moves without his express consent and nabs the hand caught on his shoulder that is preventing him from moving forward, snakes his fingers down their arm, and then executes a perfectly reasonable defensive move in the form of lifting the other person's weight up, over, and into the air, slamming them down and knocking over a few trashcans some odd ways away.

 

As he begins to distantly identify the cacophony of surprised and indignant yelling that he isn't used to hearing while in these civilian clothes, while on this peaceful street, Peter begins to numbly wonder just how his day got so rotten in the first place.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It had started with the lack of the daily coffee in the house.

 

“Ohh, I'm sorry, Peter,” aunt May had sighed at him as she hustled her way into getting ready, one hand tangled in her barely graying hair and the other expertly tangoing with a bright magenta scrunchie. “You can either wait for me to head to the store or pick some up on your own after school.”

 

He must have had 'that downtrodden face of his' (aunt May's words, not his) on or something, because aunt May began digging into her purse on the counter with a look of fierce matronly determination on her face.

 

“N-no, aunt May,” Peter tried to stop her, raising his hands and hovering over her shoulder like a stuttering, clumsy giraffe. True to the characteristic, he was too unsure of his own physical parameters to do much more. “It's fine, you don't have to - “

 

Knowing aunt May, he wasn't sure why he even bothered at that point to try and derail her.

 

“Just make sure you call me and tell me when you get there,” aunt May requested of him, shoving a few fives into his clammy, curled hands. “And get some hot chocolate while you’re at it – not just coffee. I know what you binge on at night!”

 

Swallowing nervously, Peter accepted the bills with a guilty heart and possibly a lip wobble (May clucked her teeth and he just barely dodged a cheek pinch) and carefully put them into his barren wallet.

 

When he got outside, mere minutes before aunt May was set to leave as well, he was immediately assaulted with the smell of the city. The pollution was bad that day – so bad that he gagged slightly and automatically put his hand over his lower face.

 

One-handed, he pulled a medical face mask out of his backpack and hooked it onto his ears, breathing slightly easier with the plasticky fabric in front of his nose and mouth. He knew that this reaction to pollution wasn’t exactly popular in New York, but he felt like he needed it to stifle his enhanced body’s natural threshold and at least make it somewhat bearable.

 

Next, he tripped over something while skateboarding and barely managed to not end up eating concrete. He blamed the mask for blocking a small part of his lower vision, and took (annoyingly) to walking for the rest of the way. He’s pretty sure that the person across the street laughed at his fumble, and his ears burned the whole time.

 

When he got to school, it was to the harsh realization that he had utterly forgotten to complete the remainder of his chemistry homework. It wasn’t even a simple worksheet, as it was every other day of the week. No – instead, it was one of the biggest written assignments they would have all year. Trust him to not even remember that he forgot to remember until he was already at the doors of teenage hell.

 

Peter chewed nervously on the strings of his hoodie (he’d had to take off the mask in school, or else they’d probably give him detention for ‘gang paraphernalia’) as he leaned over to where Mary-Jane sat in that period. He made sure to put on his best ‘soulful puppy’ look (he doesn’t know what that looks like, he just knows that he has one) as he quietly begged for an assist.

 

Apparently, he was one of four other people to do the same thing.

 

Needless to say, Peter (nor anybody else) got the homework from MJ, and he also earned himself a day or two in the proverbial-friendship-doghouse. Owch.

 

After school, Peter reapplied his mask and carefully walked his way to the tiny store that he and aunt May usually got all of their small groceries from, when in need. He bowed his head politely to the person at the till (and gained himself an odd look for his facial statement) as he ducked his way in between the aisles, feet routinely bringing him to the shelf with –

 

Absolutely nothing on it.

 

What.

 

“Sorry, boyo,” the person at the slightly cluttered counter told him with a droll face, suggesting that they’d had to say the same thing several times in one day. “We’re all sold out of that brand this week. Some creep in a red suit took ‘em all yesterday – probably that _spider guy_ what runs ‘round here. Try again on Monday.”

 

Peter sort of worked his jaw. It most certainly was _not_ ‘that spider guy’ who had bought all of the coffee, or else he wouldn’t be _in_ this situation.

 

With a mumbled ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’, Peter slowly made his way back out of the store and into the muggy, smelly, overwhelming air of downtown Queens. Nearly unbidden, he began to wander, unsure and mentally stuck.

 

All over some missing coffee.

 

He was so out of it that he managed to baselessly walk right past some sort of commotion – one being dealt with by no other than Captain America, which was why Peter’s mind filtered it out. Spider-Man wasn’t needed, so he didn’t really pay much attention. He blasé-ly pushed his way through the screaming crowd, unheedful of any startled eyes that followed him.

 

Ending up in one of those gentrificated, hoity-toity places full of retail stores and coffee shops, Peter stopped near an alcove so as to not be swept away with the constantly moving crowds (or be mistaken for a slow-moving tourist) as he breathed shallowly through his nose and delicately considered his options.

 

That is, until somebody with a loud voice and skin that smelled of cloying motor oil mixed with chemicals clamped their hand onto his shoulder while yelling into his sensitive ear.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Breathing erratically, Peter is physically shocked and frozen to the spot as his mind barely seems to register the sudden wave of indignant noises around him.

 

What… did he just do.

 

 _“Ohmigod-_ Sir? Sir, are you okay?” Somebody who looks to be Peter’s age stops and leans over, arms full of art supplies, to assess the man sprawled upon the pavement like he’d just been run over by a pack of wild animals. Knowing Peter’s strength, he probably feels quite similar.

 

There’s a distant question being asked – something along the lines of “kid, did that guy try to hurt you?” However, it’s mostly drowned out within the startled yelling and accusations already being thrown. They all bounce off of Peter like he’s made of proverbial adamantium.

 

 _“What the_ fuck _did you do that for!?”_

 

“How the hell did he _do_ that…”

 

“Hey, kid… _Kid!_ Who the _heck_ does you think you – “

 

“Sir; do I need to call an ambulance? _Sir!”_

 

Something inside of Peter whimpers and clamps its hands down over its ears, crawling into some nice, calm, dark corner to wait this all out.  Unfortunately, that thing seems to be his brain.

 

Peter slowly, slowly stands up from his defensively widened stance, blurry eyes taking in the mess around him. Lots of people are simply stepping around the crowd, ignoring the loud voices and the man stretched out uncomfortably limp on the ground next to rolling, empty trash bins.

 

Suddenly, there’s a presence close to him, much in the same (but different) way that the man who grabbed him was. His senses don’t tingle, necessarily, but they do stand up and take notice.

 

“What going on over here?”

 

The effect of a voice that doesn’t politely ask so much as _demand_ for your attention makes most people immediately calm themselves and turn towards the newcomer. Even Peter, who’s got a good handle on his outward emotions (most of the time… Like, when there’s a mask and a spandex suit involved) reluctantly turns his head to the left, then up _up up –_

 

Captain _exploitive deleted_ America stands there.

 

Peter’s brain quivers and contemplates the merits of digging a hole to hide in.

 

How does Peter know that this is Captain America, and not just some escaped playboy clone hired for look-alike photoshoots? Well, despite the old dad cap with some obscure label on the front, the thick-framed glasses (that look kind of like his, actually), and the casual clothing that does absolutely nothing to diminish their figure, Peter can recognize those steely blue eyes anywhere.

 

Also, Steve has a stupid cowlick on the back of his head after he wears and sweats in his helmet. Ha ha.

 

 _“Oy,”_ some old man that must either have _really_ bad eyesight or face blindness comes hobbling up to point his nose as far into Steve’s face as possible. He doesn’t get very far. “Oy - is this _idiot_ your son?”

 

Steve looks at Peter. Peter steadfastly does not look at Steve.

 

“Yes; this is my son.” Steve tells the old man with a voice that books no argument. “And I would very much appreciate it if you did not call the police on a frightened minor while his parent is present to handle the situation. I’m sure that this was all just a big misunderstanding.”

 

The old man, and several bystanders who have taken to either using their phones to call/text or record the event (Peter kind of wants to cry, then web all of their phones to the top of a tall building or something), all sort of pause and give Captain _freaking_ America – seriously, how is no one else seeing this? Well, scratch that, the girl with the art supplies who’s helping the oily-smelling man up seems to be quite shocked as well – appraising eyes.

 

“See that this young man gets a good talkin’ to, _ya’ hear!”_ The old man does that old man thing where they shake their fingers in your face, give you a dirty look, then hobble off. In that order.

 

“Oh, don’t worry,” Steve assures the trickling, dispersing crowd, slowly sliding a great big arm (could crush anyone in a heartbeat) over Peter’s shoulder, “I will. Come on, son. We’re about to have a talk…”

 

With that, Peter is gently pried away from the people on the sidewalk. He finds himself being lead across the road towards some sort of café that he would honestly never try to go to in a million years, not even if he were appropriately rich or well-dressed (well-behaved.)

 

“I’m taking you to sit down,” Steve bends over and whispers into Peter’s ear. “Is that okay?”

 

It takes Peter a few seconds, but he eventually nods and allows the Captain to steer him towards some outdoor seating in the corner. No one is really sitting outside, preferring the cool indoors, but at least they have partial shade with an umbrella. He feels distantly bad for the person who has to come take their order, though.

 

Steve slides into the dark wicker chair across from him at the little circular table, nodding appreciatively and saying the appropriate “Can you give us a few minutes to decide?” to the waitress who sets down two menus in front of them. She bustles away, and then suddenly Peter is left alone with the guy he’s only officially met while in the heat of battle.

 

_Gulp._

 

“So,” Steve begins with, folding his hands on the table. Peter absolutely refuses to meet his eyes. Never. Maybe. Sometime later. When the world doesn’t feel like soup. “Do you want to tell me what was going on back there?”

 

Peter attempts to breathe deeply, only it gets caught somewhere in his chest. One hand comes up to uselessly paw at his collarbone hidden under the safety of his hoodie, then stays there. It kind of makes him look like a raptor with only one arm. Stupid.

 

Steve starts to flip quietly through the menu, eyes roving the options before flicking back up to Peter’s face again.

 

“I saw you, earlier,” Captain America tells him decisively, head tilting slightly to the side as he leans forward somewhat, voice lowering. “You know – most people can’t walk past giant mutated cyborg sea creatures without batting an eye. Not even I can do that.” He seems to pause a bit. “And I’ve… been in the army.”

 

Ah. So ‘Captain America’ is thinking that this random kid doesn’t know who he is. Peter can work with that.

 

Peter’s eyes unwittingly come up to hover around Steve’s jawline, but his peripherals give him a good view of those shocking eyes anyway. You just can’t shake a gaze like that off of you so easily.

 

“So, you must either have been thinking really hard about school, or…” Steve sort of thins his lips. Peter sort of thins overall. “Have a death wish.”

 

Peter sucks in some air. Oh, _heck no –_

 

“Do you need someone to help – “

 

 _“No!”_ Peter gets out, forcing his voice through the muffling of the mask as his eyes finally come up to meet Steve’s. “No… No.”

 

Steve opens his mouth after a few moments like he’s about to say something more, but then he closes it and nods, leaning back. “Okay. I’ll take your word for it.”

 

There’s a heavy silence after that. Steve openly stares at Peter, and Peter openly sweats about it.

 

Peter can’t believe it; his eyes are getting misty, and his sinuses are doing that awfully prickly thing that makes blinking feel like shoving his nose into a bucket of salty water and snorting. The other hand that isn’t acting like a dinosaur limb comes up to grip at the metal-incased table.

 

Why does he feel like this…?

 

“…There was no coffee in the house this morning,” he chokes out. It feels sort of liberating, but mostly it just feels embarrassing.

 

Steve, however, is the ultimately respectful person in the sense that he doesn’t interrupt nor coax the teen into going faster than Peter is ready to.

 

“…And my aunt gave me money to get the coffee after school,” Peter continues, stiltedly, quietly. Good thing he intimately knows about the Captain’s enhanced hearing as per a very scary fight in which he got stuck under several tons of concrete and no one could find him until he started babbling the elements in reverse order of the periodic table. “And when I got outside… The pollution was… Too much. So I wore a mask… Which is bad too…”

 

And so he goes on like that, “I tripped on my skateboard, and somebody laughed, so now I can’t skateboard anymore today,”, “I forgot my chemistry homework, and it’s really important, and I’m good at it, but I forgot it…,”, “I made my only friend mad at me when I asked for the homework and now she won’t talk to me for a few days,”, “The city is really gross and loud today and I got lost trying to find the store even though I’ve been there a thousand times…”

 

Steve sits quiet, attentive, the entire spiel. He doesn’t ask questions or make noises or comment about how Peter won’t look him in the face or try to get Peter to not ‘talk like a child.’ It’s all that Peter can ask for, really.

 

“And then _Deadpool,”_ Peter cuts off with a giggle of pure exhaustion. _“Deadpool_ somehow got there the day before I did and _bought all the coffee_ I was looking for.”

 

Steve gives him a weird look. Peter, ever the smart one, only throws his hands lightly into the air as if saying ‘I know, right?’

 

Thankfully, Steve only does something funky with his eyebrows and doesn’t verbally wonder why this high schooler seems to have a personal vendetta against an obscure mercenary.

 

“And then, that guy,” Peter puts a hand over his eyes and rubs back and forth at his hair, messing it up even more while finding comfort in the repetitive motion. “That guy smelled so bad – like he just got done driving a flaming car into the trashiest part of the river. He just… grabbed me and I, and I just… Reacted.”

 

Here, Peter seems to settle back inside of his body and mind, shrugging obtusely and curling into himself so much that his head nearly touches the table.

 

“…There was no coffee in the house this morning,” he eventually reiterates. He wants to chew on his hoodie strings, but he doesn’t want to take off his mask. It’s sort of making him feel safe right now. “…My aunt gave me money to get some coffee… And that makes me feel guilty because she shouldn’t have to spend money… On me. Like that.”

 

Peter feels inexplicably exhausted all of a sudden, even though he logically knows that he’s been running on fumes ever since he first stepped out the door and choked on the city’s air. He’s kind of frustrated with himself about it – he barely did anything today and yet he’s acting like he just got done with an eventful evening patrol.

 

The other person at the table appears to let him have his small moment to himself before leaning forward, once more taking the verbal stage.

 

“Would it be alright if you were to have some coffee right now?” Steve asks him, still just as quiet and thoughtful as before Peter emotionally barfed all over their conversation.

 

Peter’s hand unwittingly begins flapping against the table. Coffee? Right now? He’s pretty sure that it won’t fix anything about this day, but… Well, it couldn’t hurt, could it? Besides, he feels like he’s going to need all the energy that he can get his grubby little paws on in order to make it home after this.

 

After agreeing to a cup of coffee, Steve barely has to flag the same waitress over to their table before she’s suddenly there. Peter has the red-faced realization that she must have been hovering in the café’s doorway, talking with another worker and either eavesdropping or ready to intervene if things got too… emotional.

 

Steve orders a simple black coffee while Peter gets some kind of Frappuccino (he doesn’t _actually_ like the flavor – so sue him) and the waitress lifts their menus up over their heads, citing a measly five-minute wait time for their orders.

 

Surprisingly, the older man doesn’t simply let the conversation stagnate into further awkward silence. Instead, he asks Peter about school, grades, and favorite subject(s).

 

“Chemistry,” Peter answers immediately. He used to only say that after the whole ‘I was trapped under a building and sadly reciting the periodic table for three hours _eventually_ saved my life’ as some kind of gallows humor joke that was specifically funny to him alone, but now he’s quite serious about it. “And biology. I like- I like both of them equally, I think.”

 

Their coffee comes, and Peter is feeling better about himself, so much so that he can give the proper ‘thank you’ to the waitress. She seems to blink at him for a few moments before bowing her head in a nod and scampering away.

 

He shrugs at Captain America at the odd behavior and begins unhooking the medical mask from around his ears, focusing on breathing in the smell of coffee as he replaces the white fabric in his bag’s smallest compartment. It joins a nearly empty bottle of his aunt’s old perfume (a comforting smell), a handkerchief his uncle used to carry around (a comforting item), and sunglasses (in case the world gets too bright to handle.)

 

There are a few peaceful minutes of light conversation.

 

(“So, what do you do?” Peter asks Captain America, fully aware of what the super soldier does.

 

“I’m an artist,” Steve shocks him by saying.

 

Peter takes in the other person’s bright, happy smile and lets them have their moment, pretending to have absolutely no idea who he’s talking to.

 

“What kind?”)

 

Eventually, their cups are empty, but their minds and mouths are not. Both seem politely reluctant to leave once the conversation becomes less casual and more in-depth.

 

“Well, back in my day…” Steve says, and his lips curl when Peter can’t help but giggle. Steve probably thinks it’s because he looks only slightly less youthful than the teenager in front of him, but it’s actually because Peter’s had fever dreams like this before.

 

The waitress catches them like this – Steve quirking his lips nearly fondly across the table, and Peter giggling and throwing his head back to bask in the sun instead of shunning it underneath the umbrella.

 

“Oh…” She hums, stepping towards Steve, who looks up at her with a polite smile. “My, my; sir, might I say that your son is quite adorable?”

 

Peter can feel his face heat up in that awful way that he knows is a toss-up as to whether his cheeks actually turn red or not. With his luck, this is one of those times.

 

Steve rubs the back of his head and dutifully pays for the coffee, probably artfully using Peter’s embarrassed distraction so that the teen can’t offer up money to pay for it as well.

 

Ah. So even Captain America can be awkward.

 

As the waitress whisks away both their payed cheque and their dirty dishes, Steve looks over at Peter with a wry smile and some shifty eyes.

 

“So…” He begins. “Is there an actual father that I can call to come pick you up?”

 

Peter clears his throat and looks away. Ah… “No… Just- jus’ my aunt,” he slurs slightly. “But- it’s okay, y’know? She’s all I got and I’m- I’m thankful for that.” He takes the time to swallow a bit nervously, coming to stand next to Steve on the sidewalk in front of the café. “Thanks, though. I think I’ll just walk home.”

 

Once again feeling that familiar exhaustion that can only come from a certain breed of breakdown creeping up on him, Peter yawns with a hand covering his mouth. He also rubs at his eyes and then hair with that hand, very aware of how childish it makes him appear but entirely uncaring.

 

Besides – Steve doesn’t feel unsafe anymore. He doesn’t feel like the kind of person who will look down on Peter for something like mannerisms.

 

A big, warm hand comes down to further ruffle Peter’s hair. He has to forcefully beat away the butterflies in his stomach that threaten to crawl up his throat to become sparkling, affectionate dust.

 

“You be careful on your way home, alright uh…” Steve trails off, giving Peter a somewhat confused look.

 

Peter gives him a confused look right back.

 

…Oh, wait. That’s, like, a social cue or something.

 

“Peter,” the human arachnid offers.

 

The hand falls from Peter’s head. “Peter, then.”

 

Peter gives Steve a big, crooked grin that never fails to make the people who know him side-eye him with suspicion.

 

“Thanks, Capt’n!” Peter calls back with a wave as he speedily walks from one end of the long stretch of road to another, ending up expertly melting into a crowd buzzing around a crosswalk.

 

When he feels that same startled, piercing gaze on his back, Peter turns his head at the last moment before being utterly consumed between a flurry of people.

 

His eyes meet the wide ones of Captain America’s.

 

Oh. Oops. He wasn’t supposed to let the big guy know that he _knows._

 

He decides to flee like a hare with a hound on his tail, forgoing walking in choice of swinging his way home after a brief foray in an empty alley. He distantly wonders what people think when they see Spider-Man running (flying?) around the streets with a backpack strapped to his body.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Capt’n!”

 

Spider-Man barely dodges a run-in with Iron Man’s flight path (and gets yelled at for his efforts) as he swings his way down next to where Captain America seems to be conversing with another Avenger. He lands on top of the building with barely a stumble (yikes. Still embarrassing, though) as he trots his way over to the super soldier.

 

“…I’ll see you back at the tower,” the Captain tells what appears to be Falcon, who only gives Peter a small wave (Peter confusedly waves back) before taking to the skies.

 

Huh. Weird.

 

“Hey there, Capt’n!” Peter verbalizes once again, his voice bright and clear as he comes to stand in front of Captain America at mock parade rest. He thinks it makes him look taller. “How’s the fish population over here? Anything fishy to report?”

 

Steve gives him a look full of lifted eyebrows.

 

Peter physically waves that look off. “Hey – I’ve been making puns about fish all night. A guy’s gotta run out of material at _some_ point or another.”

 

“I’m sure,” Captain America allows, stepping closer to the friendly neighborhood spiderling. “What is it that you needed, Spider-Man?”

 

“Oh, I don’t really need anything, per se…” Peter begins a bit awkwardly, shuffling his feet and pulling out his phone. “I just- I wanted to show you something.” A pause. “…If that’s okay?”

 

“Sure,” Steve easily agrees, placing his shield onto his back and taking off his helmet. Yup – there’s that stupid cowlick. Classic. “Let’s see it.”

 

“Okay, so,” Peter feels the need to explain, one hand circling aimlessly in the air while the other pulls up the web browser on his phone. Thank goodness that the building they stopped on has free Wi-Fi. He doesn’t know what he would do if he had to ask Captain America to _tower-hop_ with him until he found some to leech. “Remember how Mr. Stark said something like ‘nobody knows who Spider-Man is’ the other week?”

 

“And you decided that it was, for some reason, a good idea to try and program FRIDAY to only be able to speak in song lyrics?” Steve fills in the rest. “Yes. We all remember that.”

 

Oh, man; this is ten times more embarrassing than Peter thought it would be… but he can’t back down now, he’s already started rolling the ball!

 

“Hehe, well…” Peter scratches the back of his neck. “Anywhoozie… I found a website that proves Mr. Stark wrong!”

 

“And… Why not just show him directly?” Steve asks. It’s a good question.

 

Peter sort of stills. “Mr. Stark hasn’t really… forgiven me, actually. I’m still ‘unofficially’ banned from being within fifty meters of the tower.” He laughs nervously. “So… I thought that you could tell him instead!”

 

Steve gives him a look fraught with disapproval, but seems to concede easily to this teen-in-disguise’s shenanigans. “Sure, kid – I can do that.”

 

Peter’s free hand flaps slightly with excitement.  “Great! Okay, so, here’s the first one…” He slides his thumb against the smartphone to switch the photos. Cartoonish red and blue fill the screen along with great big white, blockish letters spelling out ‘NEAT.’ It’s a drawing of Spider-Man with what appears to be a simple camera in his hands.

 

“Isn’t it _‘neat’!?”_ Peter squeaks excitedly, nearly bouncing up and down. Steve, to his credit, doesn’t complain about the screen moving around so much, and only gazes down at the picture. “People take old cartoons from, like, the seventies or something, and color over it to make it look like me! Then they write funny things on the top and bottom.”

 

“Huh,” Steve says eloquently. He probably has no idea what’s going on. “Is this one of those ‘memes’ I keep hearing about?”

 

Peter can barely stifle a snicker. “Heh – Captain America just said ‘meme’… Oh man.” Wait until he tells Johnny.

 

Captain America gives Spider-Man a dubious look, so Peter composes himself and flips to the next one. “See, here’s one where they acknowledge that I can crawl on walls!”

 

“How did they find a cartoon that had people crawling on walls?” Steve wonders out loud.

 

“I have no idea!” Peter exclaims, grinning big under his bug-eyed mask. “But whoever they are, I give them the ‘Spider-Man approval’!”

 

After a few more memes flipped through (“What does ‘dubleyew-tee-eff’ stand for?” “Uh… What the French toast?” “Okay. I don’t believe you, but okay.”) they come across one that looks decidedly… _odd._

 

“Foolish?” Peter reads out loud. “And when have I ever stuck my leg up like that?” He wonders if he even _can_ get his leg up like that.

 

With an exchanged look, Peter shrugs at Captain America, hands the older person the phone, then attempts to mimic the pose in the photo done by the cartoon character sloppily painted over to look like Spider-Man’s suit. It’s one of the worst ones.

 

 _“Wooo, Spidey!”_ Johnny Storm takes that opportune time to come swooping over, hovering and bright. “Didn’t know that you were _that_ flexible. Do you do _private yoga_ for _spiders_ or something?”

 

“Aw, shut up, Storm!” Spider-Man throws back, immediately pulling his leg back down – turns out he _can_ stick his leg straight up. Huh – as he gives Johnny a dirty look that can be felt through his mask. Hopefully.

 

“Hey, hey,” Steve lays a warm hand onto Peter’s bony and hunched up shoulder, pulling him back around from the teasing Fantastic Four member. “Don’t worry about him; I thought it was pretty funny. Here, see, this next one looks like it’s a gem…”

 

Peter turns his gaze down to the phone, and near immediately erupts into delighted laughter. “S- _strip teasing in a jewelry store!?_ O-okay, I guess…”

 

Johnny appears to have gotten bored not being paid attention to, and drops behind Steve and Peter as he powers down. He even eventually comes to stand behind the two, peering with interest at the phone.

 

“Huh…” Peter says at a specific picture. “I don’t get it…” He even brings it slightly closer to his face, shakes his head, then turns the screen towards Steve. “Capt’n, do you get what… Why is your face like that?”

 

Steve is looking at anything except Peter or the phone, eyebrows trying to crawl off of his head, and cheeks set aflame by something yet to be identified by the confused wall crawler.

 

 _“Dude,”_ Johnny gets out in between a strained noise that… Kind of sounds like a laugh. But what is he laughing about? Peter still can’t tell.

 

“What!?” Peter asks with some irritation. “What- what’s the joke! C’mon, Johnny, you know how bad I am with –“

 

“What’s with the rendezvous on the roof,” Iron Man’s startlingly robotic voice cuts in, the suited man himself touching down some ways off as he _thump-thump-thumps_ his way over to the three. “And why does it look like you broke Captain America.”

 

“I didn’t!” Peter protests, his hands thrown into the air. “And Johnny’s just being a _flaming douchebag –“_

 

_“Hey –“_

 

“Mr. Stark, can you tell me what this joke means?” Peter heedlessly shoves his phone into the billionaire’s face, previous apprehension at talking to the man gone in the wake of his confusion.

 

Mr. Stark’s automated mask slides up and out of place, showing his proportionally tiny face within the suit all lit up with different lights as he leans down somewhat to get a good look.

 

Instead of immediately answering in some roundabout way that is characteristic of him, Mr. Stark sniffs once, rolls his eyes skyward, then turns the phone around in Peter’s grasp.

 

“Kid,” Mr. Stark says in a strained voice. “Kid, I need you to do something for me.”

 

“A-huh,” Peter says.

 

“I need you to look at this photo…” He continues.

 

“A-huh,” Peter feels the need to say again.

 

“And I need you to think really hard about what you’re looking at.” Mr. Stark breathes in and out deeply as Johnny makes a strangled noise. “Look at every part of the picture, then the caption, and then put it all together. Like a sandwich.”

 

“A-huh, okay…” Peter says a bit softly. Why can’t these people just _tell him the answer?_

 

“And when you think you’ve got it,” Mr. Stark says with some sort of finality that Peter can’t yet comprehend. “Come tell me. Okay?”

 

“Yup, alright…” Peter goes about staring at the picture. It’s of Spider-Man – well, _cartoon_ Spider-Man – leaning against some sort of banister or something, really casual-like, with his leg up in the air like a flamingo, and the caption says ‘don’t act like you’re not impressed.’

 

It’s nothing special, really, so why is Johnny acting like he just ate shellfish and Steve like somebody just flipped the OFF switch to his brain –

 

Peter sucks in a breath so hard that he nearly chokes on it.

 

He spins on one heel and, instead of talking to Iron Man, speaks directly to the pained-looking Captain America.

_“I didn’t see the dick,”_ Peter whispers.

 

Johnny bursts into unrepentant, gut-busting laughter.

 

Iron Man just sighs. “Well, I tried to save us all.”

 

“Wh-what do you _mean,”_ Johnny gets out between helpless sobs of pure mirth, “you ‘didn’t see the dick’!? _It takes up like half the frame!”_

 

“I thought he was just _leaning up against a wall!”_ Peter defends, arms noodling in the air. His voice cracks in the middle of the shout, and oh, this is all just so awful… “Who- who would even _make_ something like this! _I didn’t expect it, okay!”_

 

If phones weren’t so expensive he’d toss his off the roof.

 

“Oh _, Spider-Man,”_ Johnny wails as he hobbles his way over to the edge of the building, holding a stitch in his side and breathing great gulps of air like the air at the side is somehow better than the air in the middle. “Oh, my god… This is, this is just too much…”

 

Peter grumbles as he shoves his phone back into his suit pocket, crossing his arms and looking anywhere but at the two adults morosely making eyes at each other and the teenager at the edge of the building who appears to be literally crying actual tears.

 

“I- I take it all back,” Johnny turns around and informs them all, putting his hands on his hips and throwing his head back to let out a whoosh of slightly muggy night air. “You- Spider-Man can’t be a pole dancer if he doesn’t even know what a _dick_ looks li –“

 

Not even Captain America’s fatherly mien or Iron Man’s expensive presence can stop Spider-Man from furiously tackling a surprised Human Torch off of the building, yelling as they go down.

 

**Author's Note:**

> ["I didn't see the dick."](https://onsizzle.com/i/dont-act-like-youre-not-impressed-when-you-saw-my-549782)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I made Deadpool buy all the coffee before Peter could get any - I'm so ashamed but also patting myself on the back. What a fucking riot.


End file.
